Life is returning to normal here in the quake-stricken East. The tsunami watch has been lifted, and, though I’m still keeping an eye on it, it appears the water in my pool has settled down (right around the time the timer shut the pump off, coincidentally). Having been sequestered in my windowless (yet swaying) second floor office building, I was unaware of the silly news coverage (hell, this wasn’t even the first earthquake I’ve ever felt, and I’m not an intrepid Washington reporter). Now you folks out in California understand the scorn and derision I’m filled with when four or five inches (hell, even a foot) of snow shuts down some city and makes the national news. Or when Buffalo gets all kinds of attention for a little bit of snow, when it doesn’t even come close to what we get here.

Thank goodness we weren’t forced to evacuate; not for my sake, but out of concern for that herd of large, teetering women (yes, sexist, I know, but even the fat guys – of which there is no shortage – seem to take the stairs) at the office who routinely take the elevator down one flight; though they seem devoid of any outward physical defect (other than they weeble when they walk, but don’t fall down), I’ve noticed they all seem to have handicapped parking stickers, and have often wondered if maybe they stopped taking the elevator and parking as close to the building as possible, they wouldn’t need the stickers. Anyhow, I don’t think they’d have all been able to fit safely in the elevator together, so thank goodness there wasn’t a stampede.

Even at my girthiest, I’d be damned if I’d take the elevator one flight. Especially down. Not because I’m heath conscious, mind you – but because I refuse to wait, and am only slightly less appalled by the smell of the tiny enclosed space of the elevator – I did take it once when I was hobbled and on crutches – than I am of the public restroom.

So, anyhow, life goes on. Far more devastating to me than a little earth moving under my feet is the long, painful end of the summer.

Today, another sad reminder of summer’s impending demise is the unveiling of this year’s NYS Fair Butter Sculpture (presided over by NY’s Dairy Princess. Or something). Whatever will it be this year? Rest assured, I’ll keep you all informed. Unless I forget.

Another sign of summer’s end times is the return of the students to SU today (much like the swallows returning to Capistrano, except the swallows in this case are mostly girls – and guys, I suppose – from Long Island). It’s freshman move-in day, where wide-eyed teens move into their crappy, overpriced dorm rooms, parents in tow. Unlike back in my day, when I jettisoned my folks as quickly as possible, these kids seem to have their parents around for, like, a week. Go figure.

When I worked in the area “The Hill” as we call it around here, because – you may have guessed this on your own – the campus sits up on a hill, this was the time of year we most dreaded. All summer, one could drive through (and park on) open streets, patronize local businesses without having to wait in line, and meander through the streets without having to listen to rich kids with thick Long Island accents whine about how Syracuse sucks and daddy wouldn’t let them drive the Porsche to school so they’re stuck with the Saab.

I’m not saying Syracuse doesn’t suck (at least from the perspective of a spoiled little rich kid). I’m just saying I’m not paying over $50,000 a year to be here. But then, neither are they, I guess. Their parents are stuck with the bill.

Suckers.

Oh well, early day for me. Time to check the skimmer for critters, and then go about my day.

Stay grounded.